Pelle the Conqueror Part 139

"For there aren't many who'd give a bra.s.s farthing for that story now; but if _you_ say so--I've got faith in you all the same. Others wouldn't have the brains to think of anything for themselves, and it was like the cork going off, so to speak, for us poor people when you went away; everything went flat. If anything happens, it doesn't do for a poor devil to look on; and every time any one wants to complain, he gets a voting-paper pushed into his hand and they say: Go and vote and things will be altered! But confound it, that can't rouse a fellow who's not learnt anything from the time he was small. They'd taken a lot of trouble about me now--whitewashing me so that I could use my right to vote; but they can't make me so that no one looks down on me. And so I say, Thank you for nothing! But if you still believe in it, so will I, for I've got faith in you. Here's my hand on it!"

Jacob was the same simple, good-hearted fellow that he had been in former days when he lived in the attic in the "Ark." There might very well have been a little more evil in him. But his words warmed Pelle's heart. Here was some one who needed him, and who still believed in him although he had been maimed in the fight. He was the first of the disabled ones, and Pelle was prepared to meet with more and to hear their accusations. Many of them would turn against him now that he was powerless, but he would have to put up with that. He felt as though he had the strength for it now.

Pelle went into the street again, letting his feet carry him where they would, while he thought of the past and the future. They had been so certain that a new age would dawn upon them at once! The new, great truth had been so self-evident that it seemed as if all the old conditions must fall before it as at a magic word; and now the everyday reality had worn the gloss off it. As far as he could see, nothing particular had happened, and what was there to happen? That was not the way to overturn systems. From Merry Jacob's opinion he could draw his own, but he was no longer despondent, he did not mind what happened. He would have had no objection to challenge the opinion of his old comrades at once, and find out how he stood.

He had pa.s.sed through several side streets when he suddenly found himself in front of a large, well-lighted building with a broad flight of steps, up which people were flocking. It was one of the working-men's halls, and festivities were being held in it to celebrate the elections.

Pelle went, by force of habit, with the stream.

He remained at the back of the hall, and used his eyes as though he had just dropped down from some other planet; strange feelings welled up within him when he found himself once more among the people. For a moment he felt a vehement desire to cry: Here I am! and stretch out his arms to them all; but he quickly controlled it, and his face regained its stony composure.

This then was his army from the conflict. They were decidedly better clothed than on the day when he led them in triumph into the city as its true citizens; they carried their heads higher too, did not get behind one another, but claimed room for themselves. They had more to eat, he could see, for their faces shone more; and their eyes had become indolent in expression, and no longer looked hungrily out into uncertainty but moved quietly and unhesitatingly from place to place.

They were prepared for another long march, and perhaps it was as well; great things did not happen in the twinkling of an eye.

He was aroused from his thoughts by discovering that the people nearest to him were turning and gazing at him. The number of faces looking round at him increased, and the words, "Pelle is here!" pa.s.sed in a murmur through the crowd. Hundreds of eyes were directed toward him questioningly and searchingly, some of them in evident expectation of something unusual happening at once.

The movement became general--a wave that carried him resistlessly to the front of the hall and up onto the platform. A great roar like the breaking of surf arose on all sides of him and stupefied his sensitive brain in which silence sat always putting together a fine new world about which no one else knew. Suddenly everything was still, so still that the solitude was again audible to his ear.

Pelle spoke quietly and with confidence. His words were a greeting to them from a world they as yet did not know, the great solitude through which man must move alone--without loud-voiced companions to encourage him--and listen until he hears his own heart beat within it. He sits in a cell again, like the first original germ of life, alone and forsaken; and over him a spider skilfully spins its web. At first he is angry with the busy insect, and tears down the web; but the insect begins again patiently. And this suddenly becomes a consolatory lesson to him never to give up; he becomes fond of the little vigilant creature that makes its web as skilfully as if it had a great responsibility, and he asks himself whether it is at all conscious of his existence. Is it sorry for him in his forsaken condition, since it does not move to another place, but patiently builds its web up again, finer and finer, as if it had only been torn down because it was not made well enough? He bitterly regrets his conduct, and would give much for a sign that the little insect is not angry with him, for no one can afford to offend another; the smallest creature is of vital importance to you. In the loneliness of the prison cell you learn solidarity. And one day when he is sitting reading, the spider, in its busy efforts to carry its thread past him, drops down and uses his shoulder as a temporary attachment. Never before has such confidence been shown him notwithstanding everything; the little insect knew how a hardened criminal should be taken. It taught him that he had both a heart and a soul to take care of. A greeting to his comrades from the great silence that was waiting to speak to them one by one.

He spoke from the depths of his soul, and saw surprise in their faces.

What in the world did he want? Did he want them all to go to prison only because he himself had been there? Was that all that was left of the old Pelle--Lightning, as he was then called? He was certainly rather weak in the legs; there wasn't much of _his_ eloquence left! They quickly lost interest and began to talk together in undertones; there came only a little desultory applause here and there from the corners.

Pelle felt the disappointment and indifference, and smiled. He no longer had need of storms of approbation; he listened for it now within himself. This much he had learned by standing up there, namely, that he had not done with the men below; he was, in fact, only just beginning with them. His work had been swept away: well then he would build up a new one that was better. He had sat in his prison-cell and learned long-suffering.

He took a seat below the platform among the leaders of the meeting, and felt that he was really a stranger there. It was out of compa.s.sion they had drawn him into the meeting; he read in their eyes that the work that had been done was done without him, and that he came at an inopportune moment. Would they have to reckon with him, the hare-brained fellow, now again, or did he mean to emigrate? Alas, he did not give much impetus to the Movement! but if they only knew how much wisdom he had gained in his solitude!

He did not talk, but looked on absently, trying to listen through the noise for something lasting. They laughed and drank and made speeches--for him too; but all this was so unnecessary! They had gained confidence, they spoke quite openly, there was a certain emanc.i.p.ation in their general behavior; taken as a whole, they made a good impression.

But the miracle? the incomprehensible? He missed a little anxiety behind the prosperity, the deep, silent pondering that would show that they had gazed into a new world. Did they not hear the undertone at all, since they were making such a noise--the unceasing, soft rhythm that was in his own ears continually and contained the whole thing? The stillness of the cell had made his hearing acute; the boisterous laughter, which expressed their pleasure in life, caused him suffering.

Beside a large blackboard on the platform stood one of the leaders, writing up the victories of the day, amid the rejoicing of the crowd.

Pelle slipped out unnoticed, and was standing on the steps, breathing in the quiet night air, when a young man came up to him and held out his hand. It was his brother-in-law, Frederik Stolpe. "I just wanted to wish you welcome back," he said, "and to thank you for what you said in there."

"How is Ellen?" Pelle asked in a low voice.

"She's only pretty well. She lives at 20, Victoria Street, and takes in washing. I think she would be glad to see you." He looked searchingly at Pelle. "If you like, I can easily arrange for you to meet at my place."

"Thank you!" Pelle answered, "but I'll go out to her early to-morrow morning." He no longer needed to go by circuitous routes.

II

Pelle was awakened by a distant sound resembling thunder, that came nearer and nearer out of the night and kept close to the prison. He lay still and listened shudderingly in the hope of hearing the rea.s.suring step of the watchman pa.s.sing his door, while fancies chased one another in his heavy head like riderless horses. The hollow, threatening sound grew ever louder and clearer, until it suddenly shattered the stillness of the night with a thunderous roar, which seemed to bring everything crashing down. It was as though a great gulf had opened and swallowed everything.

In one panic-stricken bound he was at the window, his heart beating tumultuously; but the next moment he was ashamed of his mistake. It had been the same terrifying Doomsday that he had dreaded in the days of his childhood, when the lightning zig-zagged among the rocks at home; and yet it was nothing but the noise of the first farm-carts as they pa.s.sed from the highroad onto the stone paving of the town. It was the solitude brooding in his imagination, making it start in fear at every sound. But that would wear off.

He stretched himself and shook off the nightmare. Free! No gaoler was coming like a bad spirit to shatter the night's happy dream of freedom.

He _was_ free! His pallet had not to be hooked up to the wall at a certain hour; he could lie as long as he wanted to, the whole day, if he liked. But now he had more important things to do; life was waiting. He hastily put on his clothes.

In the street the lamplighter was lighting every other lamp. An endless procession of carts was pouring in from the country to supply the town.

Pelle threw open the window and looked out over the wakening city while he dressed himself. He was accustomed to sleep in a silence that was only broken by the soft squeaking of the mice under the heat-grating; and the night-noises of the city--the rumble of the electric trams, the shouts of night-wanderers--all these unwonted sounds that pierced the darkness so startlingly, had filled, his sleep with feverish dreams and caused a series of ugly, deformed visions to pa.s.s through his brain.

He now felt quite rested, however, and greeted the city with awakened pleasure. Yes, he had slept more than sufficiently; the noise called him and he must go down and give a helping hand to keep it going. For years he had done nothing but h.o.a.rd; now he would set to work again with strength and courage. As soon as he was dressed he went out. It was too early to visit Ellen, but he could not bear to stay in any longer. It was early morning. The first tram-car came in, filled with workmen, some even hanging on to the steps both of the motor-wagon and the two cars following it. And there was the first peasant with milk: they were not even up yet in the ice-dairy! Every quarter of an hour trams came in with workmen, and the market-carts continued to drive in from the country laden with vegetables, corn or pigs' carca.s.ses. The street was like a feeding-tube through which nourishment was continually being drawn into the city.

On the top of swaying loads of straw sat Zealand peasants nodding.

They had come all the way from the Frederikssund quarter, and had been driving all night. Here and there came a drover with a few animals intended for the cattle-market. The animals did not like the town, and constantly became restive, hitching themselves round lamp-posts or getting across the tram-lines. The newspaper-women trudged from street-door to street-door with their ap.r.o.ns laden with morning papers, and he heard them toiling up the stairs as though their feet were weighted with lead. And beneath all this could be heard the endless tramp-tramp of workmen hastening to their work.

There was a peculiarly familiar sound in those footsteps, which suddenly reminded him that he no longer belonged to their party, but had marked out his own way for good and evil.

Why was he not still a small, impersonal fraction of this great stream which day after day mechanically followed the same round in the mill?

Solitude had made his view of mankind a new and wondering one; he now, in every strange face he met, involuntarily sought for a little of that which makes each individual a world in himself. But these men were all alike, he thought; they came hurrying out of the darkness of the side streets, and were not fully awake and steady on their feet until they joined the throng, but then they did walk capitally. He recognized the firm beat again: he had himself taught it to them.

Daylight came stealing in over Vesterbro, gray and heavy with spring moisture and the city smoke. That part of the town was not quite awake yet; the step sounding in the main street was that of the belated night-wanderer. He turned down Victoria Street, looking about him in surprise; he had never been here before. He read the door-plates: Artists' Bureau, Artisan Heim, Lodging for Artists, Ma.s.seur & Chiropodist, Costumes for Hire. Most of the announcements were in foreign languages. There was also a Gymnasium for Equilibrists and a Conservatorium for Singing and Music, Dancing and Deportment. Nor did there seem to be a scarcity of p.a.w.nbrokers and dealers in second-hand goods. How had Ellen drifted into this strange atmosphere of perfumes and old clothes and foreign countries? Behind the windows in the low rooms he saw wonderful dresses thrown over chair-backs--burnouses and red fezes; and a little dark figure with a long pigtail and bare feet in yellow slippers, glided noiselessly past him in the old-fashioned, palatial doorway of No. 20.

He mounted the stairs with a beating heart. The steps were worn and groaned ominously when trodden on. The door of the flat stood ajar, and he heard the sound of sweeping in the front room, while farther in a child was talking to itself or its doll. He had to stand a little while on the landing to take breath and to regain his composure.

Ellen was sweeping under the sofa with quick movements. She rose and gazed at him in bewilderment; the broom fell from her hand and she swayed to and fro. Pelle caught her, and she leaned inert and helpless against him, and remained thus for a considerable time, pale and with closed eyes. When at last he turned her inanimate face toward him and kissed, it, she burst into tears.

He spoke gently and rea.s.suringly to her as to a child. She kept her eyes closed, as she had always done when anything overwhelmed her. She lay back on his arm, and he felt her body tremble at the sound of his voice.

Her tears seemed to soften her, and from the yielding of her body now he could see how stiffly she must have held herself, and was filled with joy. It had all been for his sake, and with a tremendous effort of her will she had defied fate until he came. She now placed it all at his feet and lay prostrate. How tired she must be! But now she and the children should have a good time; he would live for her now!

He had laid her on the sofa and sat bending over her and telling her quietly how he had repented and longed for her. She made no answer, but held his hand in a convulsive grasp, now and then opening her eyes and stealing a glance at him. Suddenly she discovered how worn and lined his face was, and as she pa.s.sed her hand over it as if to soften the features, she broke into a storm of weeping.

"You have suffered so, Pelle!" she exclaimed vehemently, pa.s.sing her trembling fingers through his iron-gray hair. "I can feel by your poor head how badly they've treated you. And I wasn't even with you! If I could only do something really nice to make you look happy!"

She drew his head down onto her bosom and stroked it as a mother might her child's, and Pelle's face changed as would a child's when taken to its mother's breast. It was as though the well of life flowed through him, the hardness of his expression disappeared, and life and warmth took its place. "I didn't think you'd come back to us," said Ellen.

"Ever since La.s.se Frederik met you yesterday I've been expecting you to come."

Pelle suddenly noticed how exhausted she looked. "Haven't you been to bed all night?" he asked.

She smilingly shook her head. "I had to take care that the street-door wasn't locked. Whenever any one came home, I ran down and unlocked it again. You mustn't be angry with the boy for being afraid of you just at first. He was sorry for it afterward, and ran about the town all the evening trying to find you."

A clear child's voice was calling from the bedroom more and more persistently: "Man! Good-morning, man!"

It was Sister, sitting up in Ellen's bed and playing with a feather that she had pulled out of the corner of the down-quilt. She readily allowed herself to be kissed, and sat there with pouting mouth and the funniest little wrinkled nose. "You're man!" she said insinuatingly.

"Yes, that's true enough," answered Pelle, laughing: "but what man?"

"Man!" she repeated, nodding gravely.

Sister shared Ellen's bed now. At the foot of the big bed stood her own little cot, which had also been La.s.se Frederik's, and in it lay----.

Well, Pelle turned to the other side of the room, where La.s.se Frederik lay snoring in a small bed, with one arm beneath his head. He had kicked off the quilt, and lay on his stomach in a deep sleep, with his limbs extended carelessly. The little fellow was well built, thought Pelle.

"Now, lazy-bones, you'd better be thinking of getting up!" cried Pelle, pulling him by the leg.

The boy turned slowly. When he saw his father, he instantly became wide awake, and raised his arm above his head as though to ward off a blow.